Anyone who is not familiar with John's work are missing something very special, he is an excellent writer, mostly of genre fiction, Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror, and is always well worth the visit.
John's main blog where he posts his longer fiction can be found here:- XEROVERSE.

Thank you for reading.

Steve Green.

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INK

The idea for the story came to me in a dream.

Today I would give it life.

Several hours later and the words are still gushing forth, the story is like an irresistible force, compelling.

The computer had frazzled out after only a few hundred words, so I continued with a ballpoint pen and notebook.

When the ballpoint dried out I reached for my trusty old fountain pen.

When the ink ran dry I had to find another writing source. This story simply had to be written.

Friday, 13 July 2012

I wasn't too concerned when the first blotches appeared on my skin, a small cluster just below my right armpit. As the weeks passed the cluster grew until it covered the whole side of my body, and upwards towards my shoulder.

Several visits to the Doctor, and a variety of creams and balms had absolutely no effect on the skin problem, week upon week the invasion continued.

“Who the hell wants to go out with a freakin' leopard man?” My now ex-girlfriend had laughed at me as she walked away.

The following months saw me visiting a succession of consultants, skin specialists, scientists, until eventually I was admitted to the Military Sciences Unit for tests and observation.

That was where I learned the rest of it.

No-one told me anything directly, I just put the pieces together from overheard snatches of conversation and surreptitious peeks at momentarily abandoned medical clipboards.

The coloration was occurring on a genetic level, my skin pigmentation was somehow altering of its own volition. And the doctors had no answers as to why.

I was not the only one to be stricken with this curse, across the world the average was approximately one in fifty thousand people, and although I never saw any of them, there were another seventeen patients somewhere in this facility, all with identical symptoms to mine.

All of the reported cases were evenly divided between male and female, and all within the age group of fifteen to twenty two years old.

I had been in the Unit for several months now, and the whole of my body had been affected. The blotches, which ranged in size and shape, were varied in colour, just now they ranged from light caramel to dark chocolate, the skin between them a rich shade of ochre. Some days they seemed to alter, to reflect my surroundings. One day after strolling round the gardens for a while I noticed the blotches had taken on shades of greens and browns, and lately theses changes seemed to take effect more quickly than before.

There wasn't a day went by that I didn't rant at the doctors, at the world, at God, for my predicament. Why the hell had I had this damned curse forced upon me?

The answer was on its way.

* * * * * *

When civilisation fell, it fell hard, it fell fast, it fell all the way, and to all intents and purposes it fell permanently.

I hunt naked now. The useless encumbrance of clothes long since discarded.

The Pinkies are easy to spot, easy to catch, easy to kill... and easy to eat.

After the collapse it had soon dawned on me just what my curse was for.

John also has a second blog, where he posts shorter stories consisting of a 1 word title, plus 100 words of story, these excellent flashes can be found here:- 101 FICTION

Thank you for reading.

Steve Green.

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NO LAUGHING MATTER

Well, I tell you, I've dished out a few punishment beatings before but never in my life have I ever come across anyone as tough as Big Bernie.

Bernie was one of those guys just born to be a goon. He was massive, strong, totally loyal to his boss. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, in fact his thought processes and emotions were nearer to those of a child than an adult.

Jimmy had winched him up on the block and tackle while I held the gun on him. Bernie, naked, hanging by his wrists, started looking a little nervous as I put down the gun and picked up the baseball bat.

Jimmy walked past me and leant against the wall behind me, just a spectator now.

If I had wanted information from Bernie I would have been wasting my time, he would die before ratting on his boss. No, this was a pleasure trip for me, last week Bernie had kicked the living crap out of one of my guys, he would be out of commission for weeks, and now it was payback time.

I swung the bat straight into his shin bone, the resultant thud, and the shockwave along my arms gave me a warm glow of satisfaction.

Bernie burst into fits of hysterical giggling.

“Okay, let's see how funny you find this.”

I swung the bat again, harder. This time I heard the bone crack. The bat sank a good two inches into his leg, making sickening squelching sounds as I yanked it back out again.

Instead of screams, and pleas for mercy I was rewarded by further giggling, which increased in volume and intensity until it turned into outright laughter.

Now usually I keep my calm throughout these kind of situations, stay detached, it adds a little more menace to the punishment, but Bernie's laughter was getting to me, it was as though HE were the one punishing ME!

I put real anger behind the next swing, I think at least three of his ribs must have collapsed under the blow.

One of the bones must have gone through a lung. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he threw his head back and guffawed at the top of his voice.

“Right, that's it, you big stupid dummy.”

I set about him with a vengeance, raining blows hard and fast all over his body, all control gone now. I beat him harder and faster, a blur of mindless violence.

The sound of pulping muscle, cracking and splintering bone, dull thuds and liquid suction echoed off the walls, and rising above it all, sometimes drowning it out completely, Bernie's loud, uncontrollable, and almost continuous laughter.

I let the bat fall to the floor, I was drenched in sweat, exhausted, I just didn't have the strength to hit him any more. He had beaten me.

I picked up the gun and pointed it at his face. His grinning, laughing face.

His head and arms were the only parts of him left that you could call human. The rest of him was just a battered, smashed mess hanging above a large pool of blood, guts and bits of skin.

“I'm sorry Bernie, it should never have gone as far as this, I have to finish you off, there is no way that you can be fixed up again.”

Bernie just carried on laughing, and for the first time I noticed that he was looking over my shoulder, and when I think back, that is where he had been looking most of the time I had been hitting him.

I spun round to look at Jimmy, whose face seemed to be struggling to maintain a serious expression.

I turned back to face what was left of Bernie, who immediately started laughing again.

“Okay Bernie, you know I have to do this, but before I pull the trigger, just what the hell do you find so amusing?”

Bernie looked down at me with a twisted face as he fought to control the mirth running amok inside him.

“You know I don't like to rat on people, but it's all Jimmy's fault. He keeps pulling funny faces at you behind your back.”

Welcome to The Twisted Quill

On here you will find my flash-fiction. Short stories of 1,000 words or less. Ranging in genre from Sci/fi - Horror - Humour - Crime - Slice of life - and occasionally, Gross+Grisly. All comments received are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading.